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Will Witfoot · 06-14-2004, 02:44 PM

Gortek sat with his back against the cavern wall and the meager fire they had been able to construct from their assaulters spears in front of him, holding a red rag to his left biceps. The piece of cloth was tainted scarlet from blood, and it was all his. The thrice-damned savage had been quite crafty with his blade. Still, he supposed he shouldn't complain. Had he been a mere heartbeat slower or his opponent a fraction quicker, he would be lying face down on the cave floor, watching his own life-blood pooling up beneath him. It was the Rhûnian with a sword-shaped hole through his body and not the other way around, and for that he was profoundly thankful.

He looked around, gazing at the other members of the party who sat close to the fire in little groups, the quiet hubbub of their conversation like the murmur of an underground stream in the cavern. It seemed that they had all gained some new measure of strength from the previous conflict, finding it easier to accept the possibility of their most likely faith. That they would all die here, leagues from home and surrounded by jungle which in itself seemed to thirst for their life.
Now it seemed that all of them had come to the conclusion that they would rather entrust their lives upon the arms of comrades, people they knew and trusted rather than faceless strangers of whom they knew not a thing about. The process was long overdue, but as always, inevitable.

Gortek spotted Bali sitting a bit further away from the rest with Haenir, engaged in a hushed discussion like most of them. He had not forgotten how the young leader of the expedition had saved his life all those weeks ago, when he had been a hairsbreadth away from death dangling from the high stone plateau, far above the ground. It was Bali who had pulled him to safety, and Gortek resolved to learn more about him before the end.

He cut a fresh strip of cloth from his worn and old cloak, wrapping it tight around his wound as a makeshift bandage. He then got up and sauntered to Bali and Haenir.

As Gortek got closer he noticed that Bali was smoking his pipe. The sight of it sent a stab of pain searing into his heart; he was all out of leaf.
There seemed to be a brief pause in the talking between the two dwarfs, and Gortek approached them. He tapped Bali on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but could you find it in yerself to lend me a bit of that leaf? I'll repay you as soon as we get out of here."

He was probably being unduly positive about the future. Who said they would be getting out at all?

06-14-2004, 02:44 PM	#11
Will Witfoot Haunting Spirit Join Date: Nov 2003 Location: Fornost Posts: 67	Gortek sat with his back against the cavern wall and the meager fire they had been able to construct from their assaulters spears in front of him, holding a red rag to his left biceps. The piece of cloth was tainted scarlet from blood, and it was all his. The thrice-damned savage had been quite crafty with his blade. Still, he supposed he shouldn't complain. Had he been a mere heartbeat slower or his opponent a fraction quicker, he would be lying face down on the cave floor, watching his own life-blood pooling up beneath him. It was the Rhûnian with a sword-shaped hole through his body and not the other way around, and for that he was profoundly thankful. He looked around, gazing at the other members of the party who sat close to the fire in little groups, the quiet hubbub of their conversation like the murmur of an underground stream in the cavern. It seemed that they had all gained some new measure of strength from the previous conflict, finding it easier to accept the possibility of their most likely faith. That they would all die here, leagues from home and surrounded by jungle which in itself seemed to thirst for their life. Now it seemed that all of them had come to the conclusion that they would rather entrust their lives upon the arms of comrades, people they knew and trusted rather than faceless strangers of whom they knew not a thing about. The process was long overdue, but as always, inevitable. Gortek spotted Bali sitting a bit further away from the rest with Haenir, engaged in a hushed discussion like most of them. He had not forgotten how the young leader of the expedition had saved his life all those weeks ago, when he had been a hairsbreadth away from death dangling from the high stone plateau, far above the ground. It was Bali who had pulled him to safety, and Gortek resolved to learn more about him before the end. He cut a fresh strip of cloth from his worn and old cloak, wrapping it tight around his wound as a makeshift bandage. He then got up and sauntered to Bali and Haenir. As Gortek got closer he noticed that Bali was smoking his pipe. The sight of it sent a stab of pain searing into his heart; he was all out of leaf. There seemed to be a brief pause in the talking between the two dwarfs, and Gortek approached them. He tapped Bali on the shoulder. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but could you find it in yerself to lend me a bit of that leaf? I'll repay you as soon as we get out of here." He was probably being unduly positive about the future. Who said they would be getting out at all?